


cut my chest open

by xnowimnothing



Category: Not My God (Band), Tim Sköld (Musician)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Knifeplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Penis In Vagina Sex, Semi-Public Sex, art theft AU, blood play (minor)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22512661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xnowimnothing/pseuds/xnowimnothing
Summary: reader insert fic based off the "fiction" video by not my god
Relationships: Tim Sköld/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	cut my chest open

**Author's Note:**

> Okay first of all sorry  
> Second of all the idea and concept were Marina's (feistycadavers) so shout out to them for letting me have my way with it!!

_ Fuck.  _

You grumble and roll your eyes. You'd just got into the driver's seat of your car, happy to finally go home after an exhausting day of work, the  _ fifth  _ exhausting day of work of the week to be exact, but apparently you still haven't earned your daily dose of relaxation yet. 

You forgot some papers on your desk, yes, those ones, the ones with all the notes that your boss suggested you use for the presentation you have to work on this weekend. 

Great. 

You rush out of your car, heels clicking on the asphalt, and get to the art auction house again. You're searching for the badge in your bag, but the moment you make it to the turnstile, you notice it's open. 

How strange. 

It's late and almost everyone must have left the building by now. It goes without saying that a business like the one you work for should always be extremely rigorous when it comes to accessibility, control procedures and safety: the building hosts many works of art of incommensurable worth, attracting and gathering high-profile big-name people from all over the world. 

Something's off. 

It doesn't help that there have been a couple stories of art theft and vandalism on the news in the last few months. Your heartbeat increases as you take the elevator to the office. It's silent. You tell yourself you're being paranoid, it's likely that some of your colleagues still haven't finished their shifts or they're working overtime, and you probably aren't the only employee in the house right now. 

_ No one is stealing the paintings _ , you think to yourself.  _ Just go get those papers and get it over with _ . 

You take a deep breath before walking out of the elevator. 

Yeah, right. There they are, those papers. On the desk right where you left them. You fold them and shove them inside your bag, resolved to go the fuck home. You're stressed out. Stress makes you anxious. You could definitely use some rest right now. 

You get out of the office quickly, but then a loud thump catches your attention and slows down your movements. 

What was that? 

It came from a room across the hallway. Your hands break in a cold sweat when you realize what they keep in that room: it's the storage place where they keep most of the art. 

_ The fucking art _ . 

You try to be rational. There aren't fucking delinquents in that room. There just can't be. The alarms would have gone off. There would be cops all around the building. Right? You're probably just dazed. It's the stress. You're stressed. 

Something makes you walk towards the door to that room anyway, even though it's the opposite direction of where you should be going. 

You hear another noise, and it's clearer this time. 

_ Must be the janitor. Who else?  _

The door is unlocked. 

You peek in and your eyes widen. 

There are two men inside and they sure as hell aren't janitors. 

Their faces are painted black and white and they're wearing black tuxedos. They should appear scary, but honestly, they're hot as fuck - you don't really feel like this is the right thought to have at the moment, but. Oh well. 

You stare at them from behind the door for some more minutes. The black-haired one is holding a spray can, while the blond one is slashing the canvas with a knife. The blond one… God, that sure is one sexy guy. 

It's definitely arousing to watch him handle that knife with such a confidence. You hadn't noticed before, but he's wearing latex gloves too, and fuck, those hands would look beautiful around your neck. Squeezing just enough. You let out a moan at the fantasy, and immediately regret it, bringing a hand to your mouth to shut yourself up. Fuck. You hope it didn't draw any attention, but your wishful thinking soon dissolves. The blond man turns to your direction and locks eyes with you. 

Your heart sinks in your chest and your breath catches. 

He lets go of the painting he'd just picked up, dropping it gently. He doesn't get perturbed, he just stands up and starts walking towards you. 

“Tim?” the other man says. 

“We've been caught,” he says back calmly, keeping his eyes on you, and the closer he comes, the more your work ethics go to shit. To hell with the art. He looks so  _ fine _ with those piercing blue eyes and perfect bone structure under that corpse paint. 

He gets the door the rest of the way open, and here he is, only mere centimeters from you. You can't utter a single word as you look up to him, swallowing hard. 

“I like that face,” he says, grinning, and grabs your arm firmly, shoving you inside the storage room. 

“Tim, we need to fucking go,” the other guy states, a hint of agitation in his voice. 

“You go,” Tim says, finally turning to his collaborator. “I think I'm gonna have a word with this girl right here. We can't afford her to blow the whistle on us.” 

“Okay, fine,” the black-haired man says, and you watch him with wide eyes as he walks over to the window and starts rappelling down the building. 

Once you're alone, Tim closes the distance between the two of you. You back up, and he comes closer, and you back up again until your back meets the wall. His hot breath is on your lips now. 

He puts a hand on your chest. You know your heart's beating fast. 

“Are you scared?” he asks, voice low. 

You shake your head. 

“Good, 'cause there's no need to be. You're gonna be a good girl, aren't you? You're gonna keep your mouth shut.” 

You nod. Tim's hand travels delicately from your chest to your neck, and the latex is cold against your sensitive skin; his fingers reach your chin and he caresses your jaw tenderly, but then, suddenly, he sharply tosses your head to the side. You gasp. 

With his other hand, he brings the knife where you can see it. It reflects some of the feeble light illuminating the room, and the blade looks sharp and keen. He brings it to your jaw, but doesn't cut. 

“It's okay,” his voice is down to a whisper, “I won't hurt you. If you behave.” 

You're pretty sure your panties are reduced to a soaking wet mess, but it doesn't stop you from talking back. In fact, it may be an incentive. 

“Make me,” you say defiantly. Tim's black painted lips turn into a sneer as the knife slowly moves to your chest. He watches as the blade brushes against your shirt, traveling down between your breasts, only to move up again and find one of your nipples. Fuck, you chose the perfect day not to wear a bra. You can feel the coldness of the metal through the fabric, making your nipple even harder. The knife moves painfully slow around it, on top of it, pressing just enough to make you moan. His other hand is on your hip, but you barely notice it until Tim grabs the hem of your shirt from there and pulls at it, straightening the fabric. He then draws a line with the blade in the middle of it, from top to bottom, cutting your shirt open. 

Your mouth falls open as you look down at your newly exposed skin, then up at Tim again, who's staring at your tits with unmistakable hunger in his eyes. 

“You're definitely a prettier work of art than those in this fucking house,” he remarks tauntingly. It's getting hard to breathe. 

You stay still as he drops on his knees, a flash of heat radiating throughout your whole body. He lifts your skirt and tucks it in the waistband, and the knife is now against your panties, brushing softly; it's barely there, and you let out a weak moan when the blade reaches your clit. Tim grins and soon replaces the knife with his hand, and the friction is more intense this time. You bite your lip to keep from moaning too loud. Fuck, the way he's massaging you feels extremely good, and you can't help but grab at his hair. This is the first time you touch him, and god, it feels so fucking  _ right _ . 

“Someone here is fucking  _ horny _ ,” Tim says, amused, and then proceeds to bring the knife close to your body again, to your hip this time. He hooks his finger under the side of your panties and slashes the piece of clothing in one deliberate motion; he then does the same with the other side. What remains of your underwear slides down your legs easily, leaving you completely exposed to him. 

“Let's see just  _ how  _ horny…” he adds. He touches your throbbing pussy with his gloved hand, caressing you before shoving his finger inside with ease. He feigns a thoughtful expression. “Very,” he eventually comments, looking pleased with himself. You pant his name out to urge him on, because this is not enough anymore. 

He chuckles at the sounds you make while he's fingering you, face so close to your crotch his breath tickles your skin; then he leans in, and you send your head back against the wall when his tongue meets your clit. He moves in circles, applying the perfect amount of pressure. You spread your legs to give him better access and he responds by catching your clit between his black lips and sucking, making you groan loud at the intensity, your hand holding his hair tight. 

He spreads you pussy with his fingers, spitting in it before giving you a long, wet lick; you're barely breathing when he turns his languid blue eyes surrounded in black at you, tilting his head to the side just slightly. 

He pulls out the knife again, drags it against the skin of your hips a few centimeters from his face. It's gentle at first, but towards the end the pressure increases and beads of blood start forming on your hip bone. You hiss, the pain feels erotic as fuck. He cuts another line just below the first one, repeating the process, and this time it bleeds a little more. He bites his lip at that, attentively studying your skin, observing the way it breaks. You don't expect it when he licks at the wounds, making them burn just a little. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out. “Tim.” 

He looks up at you again, lipstick mostly gone, revealing a sexy shade of pink on his lips. 

“Want my cock?” he asks, standing up, and you nod desperately, the blood boiling in your veins. 

“Yes, please, fuck me,” your voice gives all of your desperation away but you don't really care, not now, not now that Tim's taking himself out of his pants, big fat cock throbbing and leaking. You gasp at the delightful sight, overwhelmed with the need to be rawed  _ right fucking now _ . 

Tim grabs your arm and forcefully turns you around, as if reading your mind, and now you're facing the wall, back pressed against his muscular body. 

He gently takes the hair out of your neck, exposing the sensitive skin there; you can feel his soft lips kissing your nape before guiding himself inside of you. You moan loud, he feels so big and strong inside your walls, and when he starts rocking his hips your legs go weak. Luckily he's holding you with his arm around your middle, keeping you still and steady. 

You reach behind your head and find the side of his face; his cheekbone and brow bone are strong under your touch and fuck, this man even  _ feels  _ handsome. He rests his head on your shoulder and grunts against your ear, in synch with his forceful thrusts, and you send your own head back, panting his name. 

God, Tim can go  _ deep _ . It's overwhelmingly intense, the way he shoves himself inside of you up to the hilt so hard his balls bounce against your skin, the way his hips meet your ass with every thrust, that spot inside you he brushes against repeatedly. He's gaining speed. Your eyes roll back as you wait for the pleasure to explode, and it doesn't take long, just a couple more thrusts of his hips and some guttural sounds from his throat and you're over the edge, legs shaking, lips parted as you scream his name, clenching your pussy around that fat cock of his. He grabs at your tits for leverage as you come, whispering dirty words in your ear, struggling a bit to do so, and then you feel it, he's coming as well, a hot dense liquid floods you as he stills deep inside you, a weak groan stumbling out of his lips. Fuck. Even in your post-orgasm state, it still makes your insides turn. He rolls his hips a couple times more, slowly now; his breathing is slowing down, you know from the way it brushes against your neck, hot air against sweaty skin. 

Tim pulls out after a minute, leaving you empty except for his cum. 

“Here,” he says, handing you his black jacket. “You can't go home with your clothes all torn. You can give it back next time.” 

He smirks, then walks over to the window and rappels down just like his friend did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Fiction" by Not My God 
> 
> xnowimnothing.tumblr.com


End file.
